’Then jehan of a sudden beat down Gilbert’s wrist with his sheathed dagger.  “Stop!” he said.  “He swallows his beads.”

’"Poison, belike,” said De Aquila.  “It is good for men who know too much.  I have carried it these thirty years.  Give me!”

’Then Gilbert wept and howled.  De Aquila ran the beads through his fingers.  The last one—­I have said they were large nuts—­opened in two halves on a pin, and there was a small folded parchment within.  On it was written:  “The Old Dog goes to Salisbury to be beaten.  I have his Kennel.  Come quickly.”

’"This is worse than poison,” said De Aquila, very softly, and sucked in his cheeks.  Then Gilbert grovelled in the rushes, and told us all he knew.  The letter, as we guessed, was from Fulke to the Duke (and not the first that had passed between them); Fulke had given it to Gilbert in the chapel, and Gilbert thought to have taken it by morning to a certain fishing boat at the wharf, which trafficked between Pevensey and the French shore.  Gilbert was a false fellow, but he found time between his quakings and shakings to swear that the master of the boat knew nothing of the matter.

’"He hath called me shaved head,” said Gilbert, “and he hath thrown haddock-guts at me; but for all that, he is no traitor.”

’"I will have no clerk of mine mishandled or miscalled,” said De Aquila.  “That seaman shall be whipped at his own mast.  Write me first a letter, and thou shalt bear it, with the order for the whipping, to-morrow to the boat.”

’At this Gilbert would have kissed De Aquila’s hand—­he had not hoped to live until the morning—­and when he trembled less he wrote a letter as from Fulke to the Duke, saying that the Kennel, which signified Pevensey, was shut, and that the Old Dog (which was De Aquila) sat outside it, and, moreover, that all had been betrayed.

’"Write to any man that all is betrayed,” said De Aquila, “and even the Pope himself would sleep uneasily.  Eh, Jehan?  If one told thee all was betrayed, what wouldst thou do?”

’"I would run away,” said Jehan. “it might be true.”

’"Well said,” quoth De Aquila.  “Write, Gilbert, that Montgomery, the great Earl, hath made his peace with the King, and that little D’Arcy, whom I hate, hath been hanged by the heels.  We will give Robert full measure to chew upon.  Write also that Fulke himself is sick to death of a dropsy.”

’"Nay!” cried Fulke, hanging in the well-shaft.  “Drown me out of hand, but do not make a jest of me.”

’"Jest?  I?” said De Aquila.  “I am but fighting for life and lands with a pen, as thou hast shown me, Fulke.”

’Then Fulke groaned, for he was cold, and, “Let me confess,” said he.

’"Now, this is right neighbourly,” said De Aquila, leaning over the shaft.  “Thou hast read my sayings and doings—­or at least the first part of them—­and thou art minded to repay me with thy own doings and sayings.  Take pen and inkhorn, Gilbert.  Here is work that will not irk thee.”